


Meetcute

by esperanzacruz (orphan_account)



Series: Meeting You Series [1]
Category: Doctor Who (2005), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Pete's World, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Pete's World (Doctor Who), Public Sex, Rose Tyler is an heiress, Rose is 22, Tony Stark is Iron Man, Tony is 28, Vaginal Fingering, Vitex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 02:34:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21965641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/esperanzacruz
Summary: Tony Stark attends a charity gala in England where he meets Rose Tyler and the two of them hit it off immediately.
Relationships: Tony Stark/Rose Tyler
Series: Meeting You Series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1581271
Comments: 8
Kudos: 39





	Meetcute

Having money and power is fantastic. 

Until you squander your teens and early 20s on being the biggest, most unbearable asshole you can be in the wake of your parents’ untimely death. Then you realize in your late 20s that you actually need to do something about the fact that the media despises you and the company your father left behind, his _legacy_ ’s stock is plummeting because people _do not like you, Tony Stark_. 

No matter how many times he tries to insist that shareholders aren’t really people, but rather giant soul-sucking corporate beasts, the board is still determined to parent him. Which is how he finds himself in the charity gala circuit. 

Usually these types of parties are relegated to young heiresses and their flavors of the week, so him, a 28-year-old bachelor with an enormous fortune showing up to these galas is nothing short of a total shit show. 

Most of the time, if he’s decided to avoid making a scene (which, let’s face it...is rare), he finds a few older men who’ve come stag and actually care about the charity in question to converse with. 

There are two types of people who attend these parties. Those who genuinely care about charity and doing good and those who are here to play make-believe and bump elbows with the richer and more famous. Tony likes to think he falls somewhere in-between.

Some of the charities can be god awful and some of the galas beyond insufferable, but he usually finds some common ground with someone. Even if that someone is a young heiress.

Lately he’s been seeing that Vitex guy, Pete Tyler at more and more of these functions. And usually, if he knows Pete’s in attendance, he makes a point to strike up a conversation. Mostly because Pete Tyler had a way of keeping him engaged in conversation and out of trouble. 

Which keeps the board off his ass. So, Pete Tyler is safe. And honestly the man is an absolute saint. 

When he arrives at a charity gala in London for medical research he fully expects to see Pete there. He’s been in attendance of the last several medical research galas in London and since Tony has had a particularly difficult week, he’s looking forward to having a nice, easy evening of conversation and drinking. 

What he gets, however, is something else entirely. 

He’s wandering around the room, checking the tables for Pete’s seating arrangement when he spots her. A woman with long, wavy blonde hair, and a deep blue dress with a sweetheart neckline and off the shoulder sleeves. It’s simple, but effective in the way it immediately draws his gaze to her. 

Then down to the name tag on her seating placement. 

“You’re not Pete Tyler,” he says, smoothly as he approaches. 

He’s standing across from her at a small round table covered in thick off-white lenin, hands in his pockets as he waits for her to answer. 

She’s in the middle of taking a sip from her glass of champagne and Tony watches as she swallows before regarding him. She lowers the champagne flute from her mouth slowly.

“You must be Tony Stark,” she surmises without answering his accusation. Her accent is thick and brash and if Tony were to hazard a guess, he’d say she’s from central London. 

“What gave me away?” he asks, flashing her a smile. 

She looks him over again, placing her glass back on the table. She motions to the seating assignment next to hers, flipping the card around to show him his name displayed in bright red letters. 

“My father mentioned you,” she says, standing and smoothing her hands over the skirt of her impossibly tight blue dress. 

Tony noticeably swallows as he catches sight of the creamy expanse of her legs. 

Usually young heiresses weren’t his type. They were too much drama for a man who was sort of trying to leave his drama behind him. Sure, sometimes they could catch his eye at one of these things and he would willfully give himself over to the drama and complexity of their social circle. 

Then he’d endure a long, heated call with the board about how he needs to leave his womanizing ways behind him if he ever hopes to bring Stark Industries back to its former glory. 

_Blah. Blah. Blah_. 

There was something about her through. Something that made him think taking up with her would be different. In all fairness, he thought that about the last 5 or so heirs and heiresses he hooked up with. The only difference this time is he hasn’t been drinking. 

Tony still fully has his wits about him. And what his wits are telling him is that this woman in front of him is _hot_. But more than that, she’s mysterious and—

“Wait,” Tony says, snapping out of his thoughts and forcing his eyes to roam back up toward her face. “Your father?”

She smiles a slow teasing smile, her lips parting to show a hint of tongue between her teeth. 

Tony’s stomach leaps into his throat. 

_Stop acting like a damn horny teenager_. He chastises himself, digging his fingers into the flesh of his leg to keep himself sharp and focused. 

The woman circles the table until she stands in front of him and extends her hand. 

“I’m Rose Tyler,” she says. “Pete Tyler’s daughter.”

Tony blinks in surprise. He’s heard about her, but never thought he’d meet her in person. She was notoriously reclusive and secretive ever since she’d cropped up a few years ago. 

Apparently, after Pete’s wife, Jackie, disappeared during some vague attack by soldiers in weird cyborg looking suits several years ago, Jackie had gone off to reconnect with the daughter she and Pete had given up for adoption almost two decades prior. Her nearly dying in the attack had given her some perspective or something. 

Jackie Tyler had even come back with an entirely different accent if any of the recent newscasts were any indication. 

Tony doesn’t buy into that whole story for so many different reasons, but he knows it’s not his place to pry. 

So he doesn’t.

Instead, he reaches out and takes Rose’s hand, giving it a firm shake. Something passes between them, a spark of electricity. He wonders if she feels it too. 

He studies her face, but her expression gives him no indication of what she’s feeling. 

Her eyes were warm, but guarded, her lips curve upward in a friendly smile. She’s the picture of elegance and poise and exactly the right amount of perfection. 

There isn’t a single emotion he can read on her face. Nothing that belays her interest in him, this event, or anything else. Tony would’ve, in the past, gone so far as to say she was frigid, but that isn’t the whole truth. She isn’t closed off, but she isn’t making it easy for him to read her either. 

It’s equal parts infuriating and exhilarating. 

He takes his seat next to her at the table and watches as she slides back down into the chair next to his. She pulls her skirt taut over her lap, smoothing it over her legs and his heart beats a little faster in his chest. 

He clears his throat and looks away, loosening his collar. 

_Tony Stark, master of suave._

He keeps glancing at her through the dinner and speeches and she keeps catching him and grinning like the two of them are sharing a secret. 

Pete has never mentioned his daughter before. Not _to_ him. In front of him, sure. If people ask about Rose he falls in line and gushes about her. How he's so proud and how she's working on her degree in astrophysics and how he's so happy to be able to connect with her after all these years. 

He gives the normal proud dad schpeel and everyone eats it up. Tony used to roll his eyes in the background, wondering how much of Pete’s proud dad gushing was true. 

Now that he’s met Rose Tyler in person, though? Pete's comments don't come anywhere close to describing what sort of woman she is. 

From what Pete said, Tony was imagining someone much younger, barely out of her teens in that awkward young adult phase. Or at least a bit of a naive 20-something. 

Rose is neither of those things. 

She's confident, poised, and professional. It's like she was born for this life. Without all the wild partying and drug abuse that comes with being brought up in it.

He sincerely admires her for that. Sometimes Tony wishes he missed out on the high class upbringing and happened upon this life later too. Maybe then he wouldn’t take it for granted. 

When it comes time for the after dinner schmoozing, Rose stands and excuses herself. She doesn’t worry herself with Tony and instead flits across the room speaking with dignitaries and tech moguls and it strikes him that she is very good at her job. 

Tony usually leaves before this part, but he finds himself entranced by her. It’s not every day he can’t figure someone out. He’s been in business for his whole life for Christ’s sake. It’s his job to know how to read people. 

But Rose Tyler? She’s unreadable. 

He makes his way from their table toward the open bar, glancing at her as she moves around the ballroom from conversation to conversation.

Tony orders a scotch neat and the bartender, who obviously knows him because _everybody_ knows him, is heavy handed with the pour. He puts a hundred dollar bill in the tip jar and turns back to watch Rose, his back pressed against the bar. 

He follows her across the room with his eyes. Her presence is magnetic and just when he thinks he’ll finally stop being creepy and watching her from across the room, she draws him in with a knowing grin or a brief moment of eye contact. And he holds his vigil willingly, chasing her around like he’s a rat and she’s a piper and this is Paris. 

When he finishes his drink and moves from the bar, he catches her eye again. She's speaking to a man who has apparently cornered her on the far side of the room. He looks far more drunk than he should be for a charity gala and that cannot be a good thing. Especially when the accusation is coming from _him_ , Tony Stark, whose life mission is to get too drunk and ruin parties. 

He’s crossing to the other side of the room, trying to decide if he’s going to leave. It’s not like he has anyone to speak to and Rose looks like she can hold her own against the drunk idiot who is talking to her. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he sees said drunk idiot reach out and wrap his arm around Rose’s waist. 

Rose immediately recoils, but Drunky McFuckface doesn’t seem to catch the hint and he pulls her closer. 

Tony immediately starts walking in her direction. He doesn't pass go, he doesn't collect $200, he doesn't even watch where he’s going. He marches over to where she is, shoves himself between them, and stares down the idiot who decided he had the right to touch her. 

"Tony Stark," he says, shoving his hand into the other man’s in a tense, awkward handshake neither of them want. He gives the drunkard a murderous smile that’s filled with rage and maybe more than a little jealousy. 

Drunky McFuckFace makes some sort of irritated noise and takes a step back, letting go of Tony’s hand and retreating to a different are of the ballroom without so much as an apology.

 _Good riddance_ , Tony thinks as he watches him go. 

"I'm capable of fighting my own battles," Rose says once the moron has retreated. 

“I know,” Tony says, turning toward her and flashing his award-winning grin. “I have no doubt in your ability to handle yourself. But, well, I haven’t made a scene yet and now seemed as good a time as any."

It's easy for him to fall into something sarcastic and self-deprecating. He wears self-hatred like a second skin. 

Rose regards him quietly, her gaze looking him up and down. She looks as if she's trying to make a decision. 

Tony wants to say more, to babble on about whatever it’ll take to keep her looking at him like _that_ , but Rose finally speaks. 

"I know a far better way to make a scene," she says softly, taking his hand in hers. 

Tony falters for a moment, nearly stumbling when she begins walking briskly to the other side of the ballroom. She leads him from the main floor and into the shadows of the empty hallway beyond.

“Oh?” Tony asks, slightly distracted by the way she’s laced her fingers through his, but genuinely curious as to what sort of scene Rose Tyler thinks he should make. 

Which is why he’s caught off guard when she pushes him into the nearest wall. 

Tony makes a soft little ‘oof’ sound and grins wolfishly at her. 

Oh, he likes where this is going. 

Rose moves so her body is pressed flush against his, her hands smoothing over the lapels of his tuxedo all the way up to wrap around his neck. She tangles her fingers in his hair, tugging gently at the strands. 

He lets his eyes roll back and flutter closed. He relaxes against the wall, reaching one of his hands out to grip her hip and hold her close to him. 

Rose uses his hair to pull his head back and expose his neck so she can press soft, open mouthed kisses to his throat. 

Tony shivers.

She nips at his throat, gently, experimentally, and Tony gasps, his hand on her hip squeezing harder. 

Rose hums softly, chuckling at his reaction. She moves one of her hands to undo his bowtie, letting it fall open against his chest. She pops the first two buttons on his shirt, exposing his chest. Then she nestles her face into his skin, laving her tongue over his collarbone before she bites him again, harder this time.

“Fuck,” Tony purrs directly into to her ear. He pulls her closer to him, pressing her against his hardening cock. 

Rose sighs against his skin, grinding her hips in response. She runs her tongue over the teeth marks she left on his clavicle, soothing his skin.

When she grinds her hips against him again, Tony unabashedly grips her ass with both hands, pulling her as close as he can and rolling his own hips in response. 

Distantly, he’s aware of what they look like. Two people just outside of a party full of professionals, exploring each other bodies. Even more distantly, he’s aware that this is not something he should be doing. 

All logical thought ceases when Rose pulls him into a searing kiss. He responds immediately, turning them around so he can press her into the wall. He tangles his hand into her long hair, pulling her head back forcefully so he can deepen the kiss. 

He licks into her mouth, gripping her thigh and pulling her flush against him. He can feel the heat of her against his groin and he moans against her lips. 

Rose arches against him, pushing her weight against the wall so she can wrap both of her legs around his waist. 

Tony pins her hard against the wall with his hips, rutting against her as she grinds down on his cock. He pulls back from her to pepper kisses over her jaw and down her neck. He sucks her skin into his mouth, rolling his teeth over the sensitive skin of her throat. 

Rose makes soft little gasping sounds, gripping his suit jacket and raking her fingers through his hair and digging her feet into his ass as she reacts to him. 

“We should move further from the party,” Tony hears himself say. 

Rose makes a noise of protest, pulling Tony’s mouth back to hers and kissing him so hard their teeth knock together. 

Tony pulls back, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek, then leaning up to nibble at her earlobe. 

“Someone could walk out here and see us,” Tony warns, rolling her earlobe between his teeth. 

“Since when do _you_ worry about things like that?” Rose asks. 

“Call me old fashioned, but I don’t like to have an audience,” Tony whispers. 

“That’s not what I’ve heard,” Rose counters, stilling against him for a moment to lock eyes with him. Her eyes are so light brown they look like liquid gold and her pink lips are quirked upwards in a mischievous grin. 

Tony releases his hold on her thighs, easing her feet back down onto the ground. He cups her face and kisses her sweetly before he speaks again. 

“I don’t want anyone else to see you but me,” he says, pressing another kiss to the edge of her mouth. 

He has invited people to watch before, but he likes to keep things light for party hookups. Especially when someone catching them would bring the board down on him and he would love to avoid that if at all possible. 

Rose sighs and grabs his hand, leading him into a nearby stairwell and closing the door behind them. 

“Is this private enough for you?” she asks, pressing him against the door and leaning up to kiss him again. 

Tony takes his time with his answer, kissing her soundly and moving his hands to the back of her dress to draw down the zipper just far enough to expose her breasts. 

He makes a show of looking around the space when he pulls away, his hand already snaking lower, roaming over Roses’s ass and down between her legs. 

“I don’t know,” he says slowly. He presses his fingers to her cunt, feeling how wet she already is through the thin fabric of her underwear. 

“Never done this in a stairwell,” he continues, though he’s not even listening to himself anymore. He’s focused on the feeling of Rose leaning into him, undoing the buttons of his shirt just low enough so they’re pressed to one another, skin to skin. 

Tony shudders when she presses her breasts against him, the smoothness of her skin dragging through the hair on his chest as she moves, pressing kisses to his throat and jaw. 

“God, you’re gorgeous,” Tony purrs, kissing her hair and moving his hands back up a fraction of an inch to press his fingers into her underwear, teasing her clit. 

Rose gasps and shivers and scrapes her teeth over his chest, digging her nails into his shoulders. 

He presses the tip of his finger to her clit again, the angle of his hand between them and trapped in her underwear was too awkward for him to do much else. 

Rose groans, grinding down onto his hand. She lowers one of her arms and grips his wrist, trying to move it where she needs him most. 

Her underwear are cutting into the skin of his hand now as she maneuvers him and Tony sighs in frustration, jerking his wrist once _hard_ and ripping through one of the legs. 

They slide down, clinging to one of her thighs and Rose pulls away, looking down between them. 

“You could’ve just pushed them to the side,” she chides, glaring up at him. . 

“Where’s the fun in that?” Tony smirks, replacing his hand. 

This time he has a much better range of motion. He slips his hands low, pushing two fingers inside of her. She’s already so slick they go in easily. 

“Wait,” Rose hisses and Tony draws back his hand immediately. “I just…” she grips his lapels and spins them so she’s against the wall and he’s pressed into her. “I need…” she trails off, not bothering to finish her sentence as she pulls him down into a kiss again. 

She grips his hand, pushing it back between her legs. 

Tony moves his fingers against her experimentally. 

Rose moans and tilts her head back, knocking it gently against the wood of the door. She leans her whole body back against it and moves one of her legs up, wrapping it around his waist to give him better access. 

She makes a broken, needy sound when he curls two fingers inside of her. 

“F-fuck,” she pants when he turns his hand, fingers pumping inside of her gently, so he can press his thumb to her clit. He rolls the pad of his thumb over her, knowing exactly where to touch. 

He knows his hands are calloused and rough from years spent in labs, creating things. He doesn’t have the soft, manicured hands required of people of his breeding and economic status. 

Tony has always thought his hands should reflect his life, not his livelihood. He loved all the long hours he spent in his lab, loved the scars calluses that healed over on his hands. He was a man of means, sure; a billionaire. But he was also so much more than that. 

Rose surges forward suddenly, pulling Tony into a kiss and breaking him free from his scattered thoughts. She pulls him back into the moment with her as she rocks her hips, grinding against his hand. 

Tony peppers kisses against her lips, to her jaw, against her throat and then to the tops of her breasts. 

Rose had pulled one of her arms free of the straps of her gown and let it fall open, exposing her breasts even as she grips his shoulders to maintain her balance. 

“Lucky I’m not wearing stilettos,” Rose quips as if she could read his thoughts. 

“Next time,” Tony responds absentmindedly, his eyes meeting hers for a split second before he releases her thigh and eases his fingers out from inside of her. 

Rose makes a noise of protest, but it dies in her throat as he reaches up to roll her nipple beneath the pad of his thumb. 

His fingers are still slick with her cum and it leaves a shiny trail across her skin, which Tony gladly chases with his tongue. He rolls her nipple between his teeth, sucking gently on the sensitive skin. 

Rose hisses softly and pitches forward a little bit, scraping her fingernails through his hair. 

“Fuck,” she moans, long and low. Then she starts babbling nonsense, whispering things into his hair and grinding her hips into him while he sucks at her breasts. 

He teases her until she’s begging him. Whispering ‘please’ and ‘fuck me’ and ‘Tony, god, _please_ ’ until he can’t take it anymore. 

Tony eases her back down on her feet and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a metal case and whipping it open to grab a condom. 

Rose catches his eyes when he pulls it out, giving him a questioning look. 

“I do this a lot,” he answers, as if she didn’t already know. He knew he had a reputation as a womanizer and considering how she reacted when he introduced himself...she probably knew about his reputation too. 

“Yeah, I can see that,” she says, her upper class accent fading into a harsher central London brogue. 

He arches an eyebrow, but says nothing. 

Rose undoes his trousers as he’s fumbling with the condom packaging, trying to tear it open. But of course, his fingers are too slick to make any real effort. 

Rose sighs impatiently, grabbing the condom out of his hands and nodding toward his trousers. 

She’s already got them halfway undone, his belt hanging loose and the top button open. Tony hastily undoes them the rest of the way, pulling himself free from his boxers. 

He sighs in relief, nearly shuddering when Rose immediately rolls the condom down over his length. He presses his face into her neck and sighs, trying to compose himself before they go any further. 

At this point, he’s worried he won’t last. 

It takes a bit of maneuvering to get all of Rose’s weight on him and the wall. She doesn’t weigh much, but it’s still hard to hold a woman up for an extended period of time, especially when his legs feel like jelly already. 

When she grabs him in her hand and sinks down slowly onto his cock, he has to squeeze his eyes shut and grip her thighs to hold her still. 

Rose clenches around him, impatiently. 

“I’ve waited long enough,” she says into his hair. “Where’s all the hype about what a great shag you are?” 

Well, there goes his pride. If he even has any left at this point. 

Tony braces her against the wall, thrusting into her quick and hard.

Rose gasps into his hair and rakes her fingernails over the back of his neck, holding on tight as he fucks her. 

She feels amazing. She’s already so wet and she makes a point to clench around him with every thrust, driving him crazy. 

Tony’s panting, nearly spent already. 

“Fuck,” he sighs into her neck, stilling for a moment. He can’t keep this up or it’s going to be really embarrassing for both of them. 

Rose chuckles lightly. 

“Tony Stark,” she intones, reaching down between them to touch herself as he basically flops against her like a beached fish. 

“Goddammit,” he whispers, pressing his face into her chest and closing his eyes. This has got to be his worst sexual performance since his late teens. 

Rose presses a kiss against his temple, as if to say ‘you tried’ as she circles her fingers over her clit. She moves quickly, her fingers knowing exactly where to go to get herself off. 

Tony thrusts into her shallowly, mentally mapping where her fingers touch and what sounds she makes when they do. Her hopes that, despite his ineptitude today, she’ll have him again. If nothing else than for him to prove himself a little better than he has tonight. 

Rose presses her face into his hair when she comes, panting into his ear. Her whole body goes rigid for a moment, every muscle inside of her going taut before she gasps and starts spasming around his cock. 

“Fuck,” Tony grunts, biting her shoulder hard as he thrusts into her eratically, Rose’s cunt still clenching around him. He comes quickly and embarrassingly. He can’t even remember the last time he’s felt so inept. 

“Jesus,” he moans, pressing his forehead into her chest. “Jesus.” He wants to apologize. To tell her it’s not always like that, but all of that sounds like an excuse. And he’s better than excuses. He just has to hope he’ll have a chance to redeem himself. 

Rose presses against him insistently and he hisses in response, reaching down to ease himself out and ease her back onto the floor. 

She hastily pulls her dress down over her hips, reaching down to yank her underwear off completely where it's stuck to her leg. Then she turns, exposing her back to him and pulling her hair over her shoulder, looking back at him insistently. 

Tony reaches out and wordlessly zips up her dress.

“Thank you,” Rose says, giving him a wry smile before she takes a breath and hastily retreats back out into the hallway, leaving Tony alone and bewildered. 

When he finally makes it back to the party, he sees Rose get stopped by the current President of England, Harriet Jones, on her way back into the ballroom. 

Tony lingers far behind them for a moment, watching the exchange. 

"Rose Tyler, it's a pleasure to finally meet you," Harriet says, extending her hand to Rose. 

Several long seconds of silence follow where Rose doesn't extend her hand in return and Tony realizes it's because she's got her underwear balled up in her fist and she's trying desperately to hide it. 

He can see her quiet panic, the way her eyes go wide and her lips part, tongue tucked between her teeth as she tries to decide how to handle the situation. 

He presses his knuckles to his mouth and coughs to hide a laugh. This is such a rookie mistake. He wonders if Rose has ever done something like this before. The idea that he might be her first party hookup makes him happier than he's willing to admit.

For the second time that night, he decides to come to her rescue. Sure, she doesn’t need him to, she would’ve figured it out on her own, but it was far more interesting this way.

"Tony Stark," he says, butting in and extending his hand to Harriet Jones. They've met before. Several times, but would he really be Tony Stark if he didn't somehow fuck up international relations during a charity gala?

He’ll probably hear from the board about this one. There were a few reporters lingering in the wings that he could see. And he’s almost certain they snapped a picture of the three of them. 

He wonders if he’ll see speculation about him and Rose in TMZ tomorrow. 

Harriet Jones's face falters when Tony grabs her hand and shakes it..

"We've met before," she says, less than impressed. 

"Oh, have we?" Tony asks, bumping his hip against Rose's and glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. 

A few of the reporters have moved on, but he’s still trying to be discreet. He doesn’t know how comfortable Rose is with his level of fame. And while he would certainly love to have a picture of them together in TMZ, and the Inquirer, and whatever British gossip rags there are, not everyone likes to have their dirty laundry out there like that. 

Rose glances back at him, smiling tensely, then shoves her underwear into the pocket of his trousers.

Tony pulls his hand away from Harriet’s, letting it fall back to his side, brushing against the pocket Rose’s underwear is in, discreetly ensuring that they’re tucked perfectly away. 

"And we've actually met before," Rose says, reaching out to take Harriet's hand next. With the hand that she’d previously held a pair of ripped underwear in. 

Harriet Jones looks confused, faltering for a moment. 

"I'm sure I would remember..." Harriet begins, laughing nervously. She and Rose part hands.

"Oh, it was years ago now," Rose says, waving her off.

"So, it wasn't a formal introduction," Harriet surmised.

"No, it'was," Rose responded. "You just...probably don't remember since I was..." She trails off. "Just a girl from the estate. Before I reconnected with my wealthy father."

Tony has to press his hand against his mouth to keep from laughing.

Harriet falters again, floundering for nearly a full minute while Rose stands there and watches her drown. 

Tony decides to throw her a lifeline. 

“Who can really remember who’s met who?” he asks, sounding bored. 

Rose immediately relaxes, offering Harriet an easy smile. 

“I suppose things are much different now that I’m a little more famous,” Rose says. “The last time we met was during the sycorax inva—”

Harriet cuts her off with a loud laugh that actually makes Tony jump in surprise. 

Rose smirks at her, but remains absolutely calm. 

“Oh is that right?” She asks, turning to Tony and giving him a tense smile. “Excuse us,” she says,, leading Rose away to the far side of the room. 

Tony watches them go, curiosity piqued. He’d never heard of anything called a sycorax. Could have an overseas company or a weird foreign last name. Or maybe a place in Scotland. That sort of sounded right. 

He makes a mental note to look it up later when he finally makes it home. 

First, he needs a drink.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the Rose/Tony fic I've always wanted to read so. Buckle up, buttercup.


End file.
